


artistry

by princerai



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: BAMF Loki (Marvel), Kidnapping, M/M, Rescue Missions, The Boys Are Married And Wild, Thor Is Bad At Being A Damsel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 11:04:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15556323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princerai/pseuds/princerai
Summary: Some fools decide to kidnap the king, and so they must answer to the queen.





	artistry

**Author's Note:**

> hi so this is kinda just self-indulgent, i have this sort of au in my head where the brothers end up married and just not caring what the world thinks of them so they go a bit morally ambiguous. also i wanted to tie thor up and have him delirious and stupid. 
> 
> i suppose the 'graphic violence' warning COULD apply but i don't think my style of writing makes it so it's warranted. but that said keep it in mind?

Thor doesn’t keep a mental list of all those who have kidnapped him over the centuries— it wouldn’t be a very long list, it’s rare anybody can get close enough to even try— but some of the suicidal fools stand out amongst the rest. 

This particular lot could almost be called clever. They know to keep Thor tied and drugged, sleepy, his mental link to Mjolnir weak in his foggy state of mind. The last lot to whisk him away was taken care of in mere moments after he called out to her. He’d sat with crossed legs upon the carpet, watching in amusement as she flew in a great arc, shattering the skulls of his assailants. 

He thinks to himself, thinks of the shards of bone and blood. He should summon her, he _tries_ — and he cannot produce a loud enough call. 

No matter. 

There is something, someone equally powerful, and he knows, he need only wait. Patience is a virtue he lacks at the worst of times, but these are hardly the worst, even as blood trickles down from his split lip and pools in the sweat-damp dip of his collarbone. 

Thor closes his eyes, and, in his next breath, dizzying, pain erupts through his skull— and starry lights pop before his eyes. 

“What have you to smile about, Odinson?”

A giant hand closes around his chin, tilting it back til he has no choice but to meet the eyes of his captor. The brute looms huge over him, the man’s image blurred by the chemicals swimming through Thor’s blood. Had he not fought dirty, he actually may have stood a chance against Thor in hand to hand combat. 

Thor has never seen him in his life before this point and after today, has no intention of ever seeing him again. First impressions aren’t everything but this particular one is the exception. 

“What haven’t I to smile about? This is all rather amusing, I’m glad to have a front row seat to the show.”

Yet another blow to the skull; spots fizzle out over his vision, making him sigh. He’d really rather not lose consciousness and miss out on the fun. 

“Are you so sick that even this pleases you? It gets your cock hard? Disgusting little man.”

Ah yes, of course. Ever since the wedding, when he grew sick of hiding away his love— ever since then, his opponents’ favored insulting the one he took to bed every evening, because apparently what he did with his cock defined him now. 

It’s enough to get him rolling his eyes— and from the corner of his failing vision, he sees his captor raising his club again. Thor prepares to duck away—

And the very earth itself quakes in answer to the distant crashing that comes without warning. 

Silence falls between Thor and his undesirable companion. They remain that way for a time, listening together. 

Footsteps announce the arrival of a trio of strange men Thor believes he may have seen, but only encountered them draped beneath the haze of the drugs. These bruisers may as well be figments of a dream long behind Thor. 

“Sir, Bryan has vanished from his post.”

The brute at Thor’s side, for the first time, seems — afraid. He straightens up, glowering at his men. 

“Did you not hear that sound? Go investigate it. You’ll certainly find Bryan had something to do with it.”

Thor can't stifle a chuckle at the sight of the three fools shrinking away at the command. 

And once again, Thor's captor clenches his fist. Thor sighs, closing his eyes. 

The blow never comes. 

Instead the earth trembles for a second time, and it amplifies the familiar sound of a door splintering from the heavy kick of a boot. All heads turn to the entrance of the room, eyes wary.

The leader jabs a lackey in the rib with the tip of his club. 

“You. Go check that out, now.”

He’s a younger sort who moves only when guided, and so he obeys without question, darting forth with gusto. He shoulders his way out the door, stomping off into the halls. 

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. They all breathe as one—

And exhale as one when the boy’s screams echo through the corridors. 

Thor smiles, quiet, listening to the viscera as one might enjoy music. Bones snapping into pieces. Blood slapping the floors. The slamming of a heavy body meeting the floor for the last time. 

“What’ve you got to be fucking smiling about now?” 

Thor is pulled from his show by the clawed hand tangling through his hair, tugging it til he is forced to meet his captor’s red eye. 

“Is this your doing? It is, isn’t it? You have your royal guard coming to rescue you like a helpless little damsel? It's pathetic. Take away the hammer, and you can’t protect yourself?”

Thor blinks up at him, wiping all amusement from his expression and replacing it with feigned light innocence. 

“I arranged nothing. This is simply the way of things." 

He speaks evenly, as if his neck isn't aching from the horrid angle. "

"You threaten me, you put your right to live on the line. It’s not my choice. That’s just how it is.”

Fear flickers through the brute’s chalky face. It's a joy watching the blood drain from his cheeks. 

“What the Hel does _that_ mean?!”

“Why don’t you ask my royal guard, as you’ve called him?”

The footsteps loomed ever closer, and heat bursts through the room. Flames devour the door, turning it to ash, and through the smoke steps a blood-soaked figure, leaving red prints upon the floor.

Loki stands in the stunned silence, reveling in it. He glances between the four men in the room, casual as could be. Thor doesn't miss the way his gaze lingers upon him, eyeing the red dripping from his swollen lips.

"Brother," he greets, reaching into his cloak. He draws out his blade, its silvery edge already dripping from his work out in the halls. "I'll be right with you."

"And I will be here," Thor says-- and that's all he has time to say before the trio of men in the room lunge for Loki, raising their blades and clubs.

Thor catches a glimpse of his brother's gleaming smile before he springs into action. 

No playwright or conductor could orchestrate a more beautiful show. No artist paints the way Loki does; in his dazed laughter, Thor searches for shapes in the viscera dragging red down the walls. He discovers the long shape of a tree, a rabbit, even a smattering upon the floor that resembles Heimdall’s helmet. 

These shapes are washed away in due time; Loki’s painting is far from complete. His blade’s gestures are grand and wide, sending wild arcs of red slapping across Thor’s cheek. It drips down into his beard, down the ridges of his throat. If he could move his arms, he would gladly touch it, and have a taste of Loki’s work. 

Unfortunately all beauty must eventually fade, all shows must end, and all the artists must lay down their brushes. 

Loki stands tall among the destruction he has wrought, bodies littered limp at his feet like bowing servants. His armor shines with the blood of the fallen, crimson upon green, red rose petals upon a stalk. 

He draws a rasping breath in, shoulders finally sagging in his exhaustion. Thor gazes upon his husband in wonder as he advances with the careful measured steps of a man approaching a wild animal. 

Loki looms over Thor, chin high, looking down his nose at him. Despite himself, Thor grins away, and bows his head to his brother. 

“I owe you my life.”

Thor is answered with the most exasperated sigh, and a hand stroking through his hair. It’s gentle, threading through his loosened braid. 

“As if you were ever in any danger, you fool.”

Loki kneels beside him, taking one of his bloody knives and carving through the tightly wound bonds. 

“What a mess you’ve made here.”

As if Thor were the one dancing through this room with a blade, gutting these men. Still, he smiles, again bowing his head in submission.

"I apologize for all the trouble I've caused."

"Don't say things you don't mean," Loki tuts, but he smiles in turn, and his arms wind around Thor when the drugs inevitably take his balance. He falls forth into Loki's embrace, and at last, lets his eyes drift shut.

Loki shifts him about, til his head is safely secured against his shoulder. Thor's ear presses to the wild pulse fluttering away from within Loki's throat.

Thor knows better than to tease. He knows better than to say, 'you were afraid, you feared that this time you might have been too late.'

He could never fail Thor. They would never let their end come at the hands of fools like these.

Still. Even in his stupor, Thor finds he can squeeze Loki's hand into his own, a silent promise that he will be alright.

Those slender fingers loop around his own, and they don't let go from the moment they take leave of this place, to the moment they arrive home, when Thor has long dropped into a sound and safe sleep.


End file.
